


A Weasley Christmas Carol

by tqpannie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-War, Resolved Sexual Tension, Rimming, Romance, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-27
Updated: 2007-12-27
Packaged: 2018-10-26 06:02:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10781052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tqpannie/pseuds/tqpannie
Summary: A Harry/Ron version of a Charles Dickens Classic





	A Weasley Christmas Carol

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).
> 
> **Author's notes:**
> 
> Written   **For:** [](http://magicofisis.livejournal.com/profile)[**magicofisis**](http://magicofisis.livejournal.com/)
> 
> For [](http://community.livejournal.com/bestmates_xmas/profile)[**bestmates_xmas**](http://community.livejournal.com/bestmates_xmas/) on Live journal 

  
Author's notes: You wanted a happy ending…That was your only request. Thanks to she auntee_mame for the beta. It was also pointed out to me that Harry and Terry don't rhyme in England but I'd already made it such a huge part of the story that I left it in. This was not my beta error it was a choice I made for myself. I hope you'll still appreciate the story.  


* * *

Ron growled when he heard another group of carollers outside the shop. He couldn't stand the bloody Christmas music and, if he had to hear **happy** people singing _God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs_ one more time, he was likely to use an Unforgivable on the lot of them.

Ron had volunteered to take George's place at the shop for the night—he wasn't celebrating Christmas this year and it wasn't fair to Hermione to make George work on Christmas Eve. Oh, he was sure Harry and Terry were laughing it up right about now at the Burrow and, to be honest, he wasn't up to stomach seeing them together.

"Terry and Harry," Ron muttered under his breath. "Why would you want to date some—let alone shag someone whose name rhymes with yours?"

Ron counted down the till and when he heard more carollers approach, he quickly snuffed out the sconces with his wand. He bloody hated Christmas this year—Harry was dating Terry, and Ron was once again alone. Yeah, maybe if he told Harry how he felt things would be different, but the bastard should **know** how he felt.

Ron placed the money in the safe behind Fred's portrait, and Fred snorted when he straightened the picture.

"Why aren't you at the Burrow?" Fred's face appeared and Ron watched his brother raise his eyebrow. "Mum is beside herself and Harry doesn't know what to tell her."

"I told Harry what to tell her, Fred." Ron crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the counter. "I'm not celebrating Christmas this year. No tree, no lights, no bloody turkey, and most of all no presents."

"Ronniekins, could it be that Terry Boot might be the reason you're not celebrating the season?"

"No!" Ron shouted. "Look don't you have another Weasley to pester—maybe Ginny—you know go harass her about dating Seamus."

Fred's eyes lit up and he waggled his eyebrows. "You're right, Ron—Happy Christmas."

"Bah Humbug," Ron muttered.

Ron headed to the backroom to restock the shelves when he heard the tinkling of the bells over the door. He shoved the box of disappearing ink back on the shelf and stormed back into the main shop.

"Can you not read? Ron bellowed. "We are closed and I want to go home to bed."

Ron glanced at the door and frowned when he saw that it was locked. He threw up his hands and rolled his eyes.

"Great now I'm hearing things, I'm fucking mental."

Ron ran his hand through his hair and turned back to the counter to grab the bottle of Firewhiskey he'd bought to take home with him. He'd made plans to stay pissed through Boxing Day since he reckoned if he stayed pissed, he wouldn't mind Harry and Terry shagging in the next room.

"Wotcher, Weasley," a voice called out. "Looking for this?"

Ron's knees weakened when he looked up to see the source of the voice. Nymphadora Tonks was sitting on the counter. She was in torn jeans, her hair was green and red, and she twisted up the cap of the Firewhiskey to take a swig.

"Great—hell of a Christmas." Ron reached for the bottle and snagged it from Tonks' hand. "Now I've gone and died. Bloody brilliant!"

He took a long pull from the bottle, relishing the way it burned going down.

He arched his eyebrows at Tonks. "So you've come to lead me to the afterlife? Where's your sickle?"

"Well not exactly." She smirked and changed her nose which promptly fell off. "Blimey, I can't even change my nose properly any longer."

Ron took another swig from the bottle as Tonks mashed her nose back on her face and crossed her legs.

"Well, you are dead so most likely things aren't going to stay attached." Ron sighed. "If you're not here to take me to the afterlife maybe you wouldn't mind going back so that I can go home and get pissed properly?"

"I'm here." Tonks reached into her pocket and promptly fell off the counter.

Ron bit back a laugh and was almost relieved to see that she was still clumsy even in death. He reached down to help her up, but she waved him off.

"I'm here to warn you, Ron," Tonks said firmly as she stood up and brushed off her jeans. "You are going to be visited by three ghosts."

"Really? Peeves, Sir Nicholas, and The Fat Friar will be stopping by?" Ron crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back against the counter, and crossed his ankles. "I suppose they just want to have a chat."

"No, you're going to be visited by three spirits, to show you things past, things present, and things to come if you don't do the right thing, Weasley."

Ron began laughing, a deep chuckle that echoed through the shop, and he clutched his side as he struggled to speak.

"Really, like in that book, the one by the Muggle that Hermione loves." Ron continued laughing. "I always do the right thing. That's the problem isn't it? Sometimes you have to do the wrong thing for everyone but you."

"Heed my warning, Ron," she said. "Be prepared."

"Right, lot of good that did Moody, eh and you."

Tonks slapped him on the back of the head and when he stopped seeing stars she was gone.

"I've completely lost my mind," he muttered and snatched his bottle of Firewhisky from the counter before Apparating home.

Ron could feel his eyes growing heavy as he lifted the bottle to his lips. He'd drank more than a third of the amber liquid and he had stopped being able to feel his toes about an hour ago.

"Here's to Harry and Terry," Ron slurred. "And to **not** celebrating bloody Christmas."

Ron took another long pull off the bottle and slammed it down on the table in front of him. He settled into his chair and flicked his wand to stoke the fire. He stared at the dancing flames as his spell hit them and frowned when he saw a head appear in the hearth.

"Hermione," Ron growled. "I'm not celebrating Christmas, I'm not coming to the Burrow, and no I won't be joining anyone for Christmas breakfast!"

"Ron, do you honestly think I look anything like Hermione?"

Ron reached for the Firewhisky and shook his head to clear it. He watched Remus Lupin step out of the fireplace, brush off his tattered jacket, and when Remus straightened up he noticed most of the scars on Remus' face were gone. Remus reached into his pocket, pulled out his pipe, and used his finger to light it.

"Professor Lupin," Ron muttered. "Don't smoke, Harry will have my arse."

Remus puffed on his pipe and studied Ron for a moment before speaking again. Ron simply studied Remus back and sipped from his bottle.

"You seem to be taken my appearance well." Remus smiled and sat down in the high back chair across from Ron.

"I've decided to embrace my insanity." Ron lifted his bottle in a toast. "Will you be visiting me on the closed ward at St. Mungo's?"

"Why do you assume you're crazy, Ron?"

Ron stood up and swayed slightly before setting the bottle down and holding up one finger.

"First, Harry is dating Terry and they rhyme." Ron held up a second finger. "Tonks visited me tonight and lost her nose." Ron took a deep breath and held up a third finger. "Apparently, since you just came out of my fireplace, I see dead people."

Remus chuckled and stood up, steadying Ron with his hand, and he shrugged his shoulders.

"You're as sane as anyone, Ron." Remus patted Ron's arm. "So my wife lost her nose? She just can't accept that she's not as good as she once was. Sirius can't either come to think of it. He keeps trying to out run James when Lily gets angry and Lily always manages to hit him with her shoe."

"Of course, she does," Ron slurred and reached for his bottle, which Remus promptly vanished. "She is Harry's mother. Harry frequently throws his socks at me."

"Well, I digress." Remus tugged Ron and pulled him into the floo. "We've got some place to go."

Remus threw down a handful of floo powder, and Ron felt bile rise to his throat as he began to spin. The green flames made him nauseous, and he closed his eyes tightly as he continued to be sucked towards his destination. He and Remus tumbled out of the fireplace and when the room stopped spinning Ron opened his eyes.

"Hold on," Ron exclaimed as he sat up. "We're in my dormitory."

He glanced at the stove in the middle of the room and looked back at Remus.

"How did we fit in that stove?"

"Magic." Remus grinned. "You are in your dormitory with," Remus gestured to the bed directly across from Ron, "Harry."

Ron glanced at Harry and was surprised by his appearance. His blanket was pulled down to his waist and Harry was shivering slightly from the chill in the room. Ron took in the striped pyjamas with the frayed sleeves, the way Harry's hair fell over his forehead covering his scar, and Ron's heart beat faster as Harry opened his eyes.

"Remus," Ron hissed as he reached up to tug Remus to the floor. "We've got to hide; Hermione told me what would happen if I saw myself."

Remus struggled away from Ron's grip and brushed his trousers off. "Ron they can't see us, they can't hear us, and quite frankly you don't exist in this place right now."

"Oh," Ron whispered and watched as Harry reached over to put his glasses on. He swallowed past the lump in his throat as Harry's eyes widened when he saw the presents at the end of his bed.

Ron was surprised to hear his own voice ring out while Harry was putting on his dressing gown.

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

"You too," Harry said and Ron couldn't help but laugh at his high pitched voice. "Would you look at this - I've got some presents!"

"He acts like he'd never gotten presents," Ron said softly as he watched the younger version of himself and Harry tearing into presents. "Honestly."

"He hadn't," Remus said softly. "Or rather none that he'd remember—his first Christmas he did of course—Sirius and I bought him a rather nice toy broom but he slept through the best part of the day."

"Really?" Ron sighed and stared as Harry slipped his Weasley jumper over his head. "That's not on."

"Did you get Harry anything this year, Ron?"

Ron looked down at his feet and shook his head. "Not celebrating Christmas this year."

"Really," Remus said thoughtfully and tugged Ron towards the stove in the middle of the dormitory. "Why?"

"Harry and Terry rhyme," Ron muttered and he felt Remus pat his back.

"That might be true but who was with Harry on his first real Christmas?" Remus asked and gave Ron a giant shove.

Ron went head first into the stove. He felt as if his entire body was collapsing in on him, and he landed with a loud thud next to his chair. His head hit the floor and his knees raked the carpet. Ron lifted his head and whispered. "That's going to leave a mark." Before promptly passing out.

"Mr Weasley…Mr Weasley…"

Ron came awake slowly, feeling someone shaking him, and he groaned as he tried to lift his head. It felt as if it were full of cotton and his mouth felt as if a frog had died in it.

"Go away, Dad," Ron muttered and tried to push the hand off of him. "I'm not coming for Christmas breakfast especially since Hermione is cooking."

"Mr Weasley," the voice attached to the hand shaking him was amused. "Even in the afterlife we fear Miss Granger's cooking. Odd, isn't it? Someone so brilliant with books and potions being such a bad cook."

Ron forced his eyes to open and he nearly choked when he saw Professor Dumbledore kneeling next to him.

"Harry said you were at the train station not in our living room," Ron stammered. "Honestly, if I'm dead could we please just get on with it? I'm sure there's a timetable we have to meet—Hermione's are colour-coded you know."

"Lemon drop, Mr Weasley?" Professor Dumbledore asked and Ron could see amusement dancing in his eyes. "I assure you that you're not dead but I am here to take you—"

"Oh, let me guess, you're the ghost of Christmas present? The Christmas I'm not celebrating this year?"

"You seem resistant to the idea of Christmas, Ronald." Professor Dumbledore held out his hand to help Ron up. "May I inquire as to why?"

"I'm certain you've spoken to Professor Lupin and Tonks already," Ron said stubbornly. "I really don't want to do this. I've still got a bit of Firewhisky, how about we just have a nip, and reminisce about Christmas past. Or perhaps you could tell me what Christmas is like in the afterworld."

"I'm afraid that's not possible." Professor Dumbledore sighed and stared at Ron over his half-moon glasses. "I know you have a certain disregard for the rules. I feel that this time rules are necessary."

"Bugger," Ron growled. "I suppose you're going to suggest we pursue that flighty temptress adventure?"

"I could not have said that better myself, Mr Weasley."

Professor Dumbledore straightened his hat and motioned that Ron should follow him. He strode through the living room, into the kitchen, and opened the pantry door.

"The pantry," Ron muttered. "Seems a bit uninventive."

"You are definitely Molly Weasley's son. Now if you'll step inside."

"After you Professor." Ron smirked. "Age before beauty and all that nonsense."

Ron stepped into the pantry after Dumbledore and found himself staring at the forty odd cans of turnips he and Harry had bought just before the blizzard last year.

"I am rather curious Mr Weasley." Dumbledore smiled as he picked up a can of turnips. "Why so many turnips?" He turned towards Ron and tapped him on the head with the can.

"Bloody hell!" Ron swore as he tumbled into the kitchen at the Burrow. "That bloody well hurt!"

"Sorry about that Mr Weasley but I find it best to send you off a bit unsuspecting." Professor Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling. "It smells like roast duck, potatoes, and goodness I believe that is Molly's famous pies sitting on the counter."

Ron's mouth watered and he moved towards the pies. He bent his head and sniffed the mince meat before turning back to Dumbledore.

"They can't see us or hear us right? So I could nick a piece of pie and they'd be none the wiser."

"You are correct but you are not material," Professor Dumbledore said as the kitchen door swung open and Harry appeared. "Your fingers will merely pass through it."

"What is wrong with you?" Terry hissed as he followed Harry inside the kitchen. "You're acting as if you wish I wasn't here."

"It's not Christmas without Ron okay, Terry? I've spent every Christmas with him for the last twelve years it just doesn't feel right."

Harry ran his hand through his hair and Ron watched Terry's face go bright red.

"So you'd rather him be here than me?"

"No…I just miss him, all right? He's my best mate."

The door swung open again to reveal Hermione standing in the doorway. She presented a formidable picture with one redhead on her hip and her stomach protruding with the next Weasley.

"Terry, if you'll excuse Harry and me," Hermione began and Terry shook his head.

" 'erry make Mummy mad." Fred giggled and squirmed in Hermione's arm. "Do the canaries, Mama!"

"No, Fred those are reserved for your Uncle Ron." Hermione glared at Terry who lifted his hands. "Do you really want to upset the very pregnant lady?"

"This conversation isn't finished, Harry," Terry muttered and scooted past Hermione.

"Are you quite done moping, Harry?" Hermione asked as she handed Fred to him.

"Did Fred's portrait talk to him?"

"Yes, Harry, and he's still not coming," Hermione said softly. "In fact he sold out Ginny and Seamus. Fred is in their taking the mickey out of them now."

"Why? What did he say?"

"He said, and I quote, _'Bah Humbug'_." Hermione frowned. "I should have never lent him that book, but I was trying to expand his mind. I knew there was only so much information that it could hold."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, and Dumbledore burst out laughing.

"It is refreshing to see that Miss Granger or should I say Mrs Weasley hasn't changed in regards to you."

"Refreshing for you," Ron muttered. "Frightening for me."

"Did he tell you why he didn't want to celebrate Christmas?" Harry asked as Fred rested his head against his shoulder. "I mean have I done something?"

"He's not said a word to me." Hermione sighed and shifted in her seat. "Just that Harry and Terry rhyme."

Harry hugged Fred tightly, and Ron heard his mum call out from the living room. "Ron, Harry, Hermione, time to open your one present."

Harry helped Hermione up and adjusted Fred in his arms. Ron couldn't help but notice how sad he looked and felt just a smidgen of guilt as he followed them into the living room.

"We're very sorry, Molly," Harry said softly. "Ron still isn't coming."

Ron couldn't help but notice his mum's eyes welling with tears, his dad frowned, and his brothers cursed under their breath. He also couldn't help but notice the smirk on Terry's face and he felt that same old rage bubble up with in him. Hermione held up her hand and shook her head.

"Before you ask neither of us know why."

"Because he's a prat," Terry piped up and pointed to Harry. "He's under the mistletoe… I guess I'd better do my duty."

Ron's hands clenched at his sides as Terry quickly crossed the room and dipped his head to give Harry a full kiss on the lips. It was a deep kiss and you couldn't miss Terry's tongue sliding into Harry's mouth.

They broke apart to a bit of cheering from Ginny and Seamus and Harry's face reddened. The two of them, Fred in tow, rejoined the party and Professor Dumbledore leaned in to whisper in Ron's ear.

"It is time to go," Professor Dumbledore said softly. "But notice where Harry's eyes are?"

Ron looked at Harry and found his eyes glued to the spoon on his mum's clock. The one with his picture and he watched Harry force a smile on his face and take up a conversation with Seamus and Ginny.

"It seems Mr Weasley that no one is happy without you here," Professor Dumbledore said firmly. "So your plan was to ruin Christmas for everyone?"

"No, sir, that is to say, that I only intended for me to be alone."

"Jealousy is a dangerous emotion, Ronald. I'm sure Harry has told you of my failings—much of which was based on jealousy and pride."

"I'm not jealous," Ron growled. "Terry and Harry rhyme!"

"Heed my words, Ronald, or you will regret not sharing how you feel."

"I feel nothing," Ron muttered and closed his eyes at the sounds of his family laughing in the background. "I'm not jealous."

"It's time to go back," Professor Dumbledore said, and Ron saw stars when a hard metal can smacked him directly on the forehead.

Ron fell into his pantry, knocking into the shelves, which promptly broke, and cans of turnips rained down on him. He managed to avoid everyone but the last one that hit him with a resounding thunk. Ron managed to grab his head before sliding into the black oblivion of unconsciousness.

Ron woke to the sound of the cuckoo-clock in the living room indicating that it was quarter till midnight. He kicked at the cans of turnips surrounding his legs and slowly stood up. He rubbed his forehead when he drew his hand back there was a small amount of blood on his fingers.

"Wonderful," he growled and pushed open the pantry door. "I'm bleeding, I don't know where my Firewhisky is and if that damn clock doesn't shut up, I'm going to banish it to Bulgaria."

Ron made his way down the narrow hall towards the loo. He stubbed his toe on Harry's broomstick and cursed Harry under his breath. He pushed open the door and flicked on the light with the tip of his finger. His reflection was pale, his freckles stood out in stark contrast against his skin, and he had a small cut leading from the middle of his forehead down to just between his eyebrows.

"Never going to forgive Dumbledore for this," he muttered to his reflection. "Showing me Christmas and Harry… smacking me with a can of turnips… Remus pushing me… Tonks bugging me…"

Ron turned on the water and wetted down the flannel that he grabbed from next to the sink. He dabbed at his forehead, causing it to bleed more, and he reached into the medicine cupboard to get a Muggle bandage out. He cursed as he tried to peel the backing away and when he wrinkled the adhesive so it stuck together he nearly broke the mirror in frustration.

He dabbed his forehead again and decided the cut wasn't bad enough to require a bandage or even healing. He washed his hands and flipped the lid on the chamber pot up to use the loo. He'd just finished when the clock in the living room began cuckooing again and he stomped his way back to the living room and leveled his wand at it.

"I'm only doing my job," the cuckoo said as he bobbed his head out its doors. "Where's your Christmas spirit?"

Ron's fingers tightened around his wand and he opened his mouth to hex the cuckoo when the front door swung open. Ron's whirled around, almost losing his balance, and he staggered backwards when black swirling robes proceeded Severus Snape into the flat.

"So this is what hell is like," Ron muttered and lowered his wand. "I suppose you’re here to show me the future. I have news—I'm not going with you anywhere."

Snape looked down at Ron, crossed his arms over his chest, and nodded his head towards the door.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Ron growled. "I'm going to bed now."

Ron turned his back on Snape and tried to take a step towards his bedroom. His legs felt heavy, his feet seemed to be sticking to the floor. He cursed when he looked over his shoulder at Snape to find him smirking.

"Listen you slimy git!" Ron shouted. "Take the spell off me. I don't need you showing me the future! You aren't my Professor any longer and I don't have to follow you."

"Mr Weasley," Snape said slowly, enunciating each word, "You speak as if you have a choice in the matter. I have far better things to do with my time than to show you your fate. I am not Professor Trewlawney and the idea that I must show you the future is quite nauseating, I assure you."

Ron glared at Snape and slowly turned to face him. He clenched his fists at his side and met Snape's eyes.

"I have been shoved head first into a stove tonight, I've been hit in the head with a can of turnips multiple times, and I'm out of Firewhisky so if you think that you can intimidate me, you are wrong. Release the spell."

Snape waved his hand and Ron pitched forward onto the carpet. He saw stars when his nose hit the floor hard and began bleeding.

"Bloody hell," Ron groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I tink you bwoke my nowse"

"What a shame, Mr Weasley," Snape drawled. "You really can not afford for your nose to get any larger. Now stand up and face your future or I'll have to resort to extreme measures."

Ron summoned a handkerchief from his room and pressed it to his nose, trying to stop the bleeding, and he flinched when Snape's cold fingers closed around his ear.

"Let me go," Ron hissed as Snape tugged his ear hard. "I don't need to see the future—especially if it involves more rhyming with Terry and Harry."

Snape gave Ron's ear a hard tug, causing Ron to leap off the floor, and, without another word, Snape tugged him by the ear towards the door. They stepped through the door and into a small cabin lit by a single candle. Ron saw himself, sitting in the dark, staring at a pile of letters, and burning them one by one.

"I've told him that I can't come back for Christmas this year." He heard himself say softly. "Every letter for the last week is asking me to come home so I can join him on this mission he's got. He's partnered with Terry now. Why the hell does he need me?"

Ron watched himself take a sip of the Firewhisky that he took from the table beside him. He looked around the dark cabin and it seemed devoid of anything personal at all.

"I came up here to get away from them," Ron slurred. "Letters, Terry gets Harry and I get letters. I reckon that seems fair—Happy Christmas, Harry."

Ron watched as he threw the letters into the fire and the room went dark as he blew the candle out.

"Mr Weasley, it's refreshing to see someone so young embracing this pathetic lifestyle."

Snape snapped his fingers, the room began to spin, and when the darkness cleared he found himself beside a burial plot. He took in the people standing about the open grave and was surprised to see his entire family there.

"So, I'm dead," Ron muttered and looked up at Snape. "I notice Harry and Terry aren’t here. Maybe their off rhyming some dirty limericks with their names in them…"

Ron didn't mind being dead as much as he minded Harry not being at his funeral. He thought they were supposed to be best mates and it pained him to know that Harry didn't give a rat's arse that he was dead.

"Mr Weasley, it is not your funeral." Snape waved his hand at Ron stepping out of the crowd to stare into the grave. "Perhaps, Kingsley's words will enlighten you."

Ron moved closer to the gravesite as Kingsley stood at the head of the grave and opened what appeared to be a Muggle bible.

"Harry would have wanted this read," Kingsley spoke in hushed tones. "He used it once to describe his relationship with Ron."

" _There is no greater love than to lay down one's life for a friend._ ", Kingsley continued. "He was proud of the last mission he went on and was happy to go undercover guarding Ron."

"Snape," Ron hissed. "What the hell is this?"

"You wouldn't meet with Potter on Christmas," Snape sounded almost pleased. "He needed to inform you that you were being threatened by Stan Shunpike."

"I put him away for galleon laundering," Ron muttered. "How the hell could he threaten me?"

"Apparently, he'd escaped, he had you pinned in the cabin, and because Potter's partner was insufficient, Potter was killed when Mr Boot ran off in fear." Snape shrugged his shoulders. "If you had taken the time to meet with him perhaps Potter wouldn't have been unprotected but your stubbornness about Christmas cost Potter his life. Pity he'll be in the afterlife with me."

"That's not true," Ron whispered. "No way… I always protected Harry… why the hell did you show me this? It's not true."

Ron moved to the edge of the grave and shouted, "Harry, you're not dead. I know you're not. This is not funny and you shouldn't take the piss out of me this way."

He saw Snape moving to stand next to Kingsley and he felt the panic welling inside him.

"Snape, this isn't real," Ron cried out. "This isn't the real future—I can change this right?"

"It is our choices, Mr Weasley," Snape smiled as he lifted the book from Kingsley's hand, "that makes us who we are. Almost fitting that despite the fact that you destroyed the Dark Lord's Horcrux that you couldn't destroy your jealousy of Terry Boot."

Ron threw himself at Snape, his fists flying, and Snape drew back and hit him with the Muggle bible. Ron felt himself falling backwards; he faltered on the edge of the grave, and fell backwards on to Harry's casket. He heard sobbing above him and looked up to see Hermione and himself standing at the edge of the grave before dirt began raining down on him. He coughed and sputtered, trying to scream Harry's name, and as more dirt rained down on him he realized he was being buried alive. His chest tightened, his lungs filled with dust, and slowly he lost consciousness.

Ron woke up to the sound of keys jangling outside the flat. His eyes snapped open and he clawed at the air for a moment to make sure there was no more dirt falling on him. He stood just as Harry came in the door and relief flooded through him.

"Harry!" Ron rushed across the room and pushed Harry against the front door. "You're here! It's Christmas, Mate."

"I know that, Ron," Harry said and rolled his eyes. "Are you pissed?"

"Harry, shut up," Ron grinned before lowering his lips to Harry's.

The minute his lips touched Harry's, Ron felt something inside him give way, and he knew this was how to set things right. Harry stiffened slightly and his lips were frozen under Ron's onslaught, but only for a moment, and when Ron's tongue ran over his bottom lip, he moaned.

Ron took advantage immediately, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding against Harry's, and when Harry began to kiss him back he answered with his own moan of pleasure.

Ron loved the way Harry tasted, the way his hands were clenching and unclenching bits of his shirt, and he pressed his body fully against Harry's. Ron moaned when their erections brushed and he bent his legs slightly as he pinned Harry to the door with his body. He swivelled his hips and Harry nipped his lower lip. He ran his hand through Harry's hair and Harry slid his hands to his arse. He moaned and Harry answered as they rocked against each other.

They parted to catch their breath and Ron moved his lips over Harry's jaw and down his neck. His fingers were threaded in Harry's hair, his lips moved over Harry's pulse point, and he laved the rapidly beating skin with the tip of his tongue.

"Ron," Harry tilted his head and moaned, "what are we…that feels good…doing?"

"Took…" Ron tugged Harry's earlobe between his teeth. "A shove through a stove, being hit by turnips, and seeing Snape to make me realise…" Ron slid his hand down Harry's chest, to the waistband of his jumper, and underneath. "I'm jealous because you should be with me."

"Hold on." Harry's head fell back against the door as Ron ran his thumb over his nipple. "You were jealous?"

"Harry and Ron don't rhyme," Ron muttered against the corner of Harry's mouth.

"You were jealous," Harry whispered again. "Really?"

"Really." Ron pulled back. "I hate Terry fucking Boot. I hate Terry fucking you…I should be fucking you and taking care of you…and I hate watching him touch you, kiss you…"

"Why didn't you say something?" Harry whispered. "Do you have any idea how much time we've wasted when we could have been doing this?"

Ron and Harry's eyes met and heat flared between them. Harry pushed Ron slightly, causing him to stagger backwards, and there was a predatory gleam in his eyes when he advanced on Ron.

"Do you have any idea?" Harry growled. "How many times I've been with someone and called out your name? Do you have any idea how many times I've heard you wanking in the loo and stood outside the bathroom door wanking with you?"

"No," Ron whispered and the back of his knees pressed against the arm of the sofa. "How long?"

"Since Hogwarts." Harry groaned and tugged Ron by the waistband of his jeans. "Since you started wanking—thought you were straight though—tried to be straight too."

Ron moaned when Harry's hand slid over the erection tenting Ron's jeans. His breath caught in his throat when Harry undid his flies and dropped to his knees.

"Have you thought about his?" Harry whispered and looked up at Ron. "Have you pictured me on my knees—sucking your cock?"

"Yes…"

Ron's eyes rolled back in his head as Harry ran his tongue over the tip of his cock. He growled when Harry slowly slid him into the wet heat of his mouth and his hands threaded through Harry's hair as he began sliding his mouth up and down Ron's shaft.

"Fuck…better than I imagined…" Ron panted and slowly thrust his hips forward.

Harry waved his hand, banishing their clothing, and drew back to release Ron with a pop.

"Turn around," Harry demanded. "I want to show you something."

Ron felt more than slightly exposed as he turned around, but when Harry's hands slid over the curve of his arse he moaned.

"So many freckles," Harry whispered before running his tongue over Ron's cheek. "Going to take a long time to count all of them…maybe forever."

"Harry—what are you…fuck!"

Ron bit his lip hard as Harry's tongue trailed up and down his cleft, he heard a spell being muttered, and then Harry's tongue was at his pucker. Ron tried to resist pushing back against Harry, but couldn't stop himself when Harry circled his hole. Ron's body shook when Harry's tongue dipped inside him, his hands scrambled for purchase on the sofa, and his cock nearly leapt for joy when Harry's hand closed around him.

Ron whimpered incoherently as Harry fucked him with his tongue. He begged Harry to stroke him harder and shuddered when Harry twisted his hand on each upward stroke to his cock. He was bombarded by sensation, his legs trembled, and when Harry moaned against his arse he almost came on the spot.

"Stop…Merlin…want to…need to touch…" Ron panted. "Want you."

Harry complied and Ron heard his knees pop as he stood. He whirled around and pulled Harry to him. His lips crashed down on Harry's as he walked him backwards towards his bedroom. They continued to kiss, tongues tangling, as they walked until they fell onto the bed. Ron levered himself over Harry and slowly line up their cocks, he claimed Harry's lips again, and their balls and cocks rubbed against each other creating the most delicious friction. Harry's hands were on his arse, squeezing his cheeks, and his thumbs were circling his hole.

"Blimey," Ron panted against Harry's lips. "I want to…yeah…don't think going to last…"

"So don't…"

"Want…to… fuck you…"

Ron felt his cheeks heat slightly as he looked down at Harry. He wanted to be suave about this but he was ready to beg.

"I want you to," Harry whispered and waved his hand. "Just prep me and—"

Harry's voice trailed off as Ron reared back on his knees and trailed his fingers over Harry's balls and up to his pucker.

"Lube…" Ron whispered and bent his head to lap the precum from the tip of Harry's cock. "Drawer."

The lube was thrust into Ron's hand and he popped it open. He continued to lap at the tip of Harry's cock as he slid one finger inside him. Harry moaned when Ron began stretching him, adding a second finger, and when Harry began to thrust his hip he took him completely into his mouth. His fingers and lips worked in tandem, crooking to hit the spot that Harry seemed to love, and he tightened his mouth around Harry shaft every time he brushed Harry's prostate.

"Ron," Harry whimpered. "Now…ready now…"

Ron rolled off Harry and lay back against the pillows. "So ride me."

Harry moaned and levered himself over Ron. Ron could see the tension in Harry's body as he guided Ron's shaft to his pucker. He slid slowly down the length of Ron's cock, taking him deeper inch by inch, and when he was finally fully seated, he shuddered.

"You okay, mate?"

"Feel full," Harry panted. "Big…"

"Thanks." Ron grinned and closed his hand around Harry's cock. "You're not too tiny yourself."

"I am," Harry moaned as he began to move. "The Chosen One after all."

Ron's laugh trailed away as Harry began to move faster up and down his length. He stroked Harry's shaft and the only sounds in the room were their mingled moans, their bodies slapping together, and the smell of sweat filled Ron's senses. He could feel his balls tightening, Harry's shaft was swelling in his hand, and the combination of everything caused him to call out Harry's name.

"Gonna come, Harry…"

"Me too…"

"Together?"

Harry nodded and tightened around Ron's cock. Ron began stroking Harry's length faster, thrusting his hips up to meet Harry's downward movements, and with combined shouts they came. Harry spilled over Ron's stomach as Ron poured himself inside Harry. Their cries echoed against the wall and as they milked the last drops from each other, they collapsed together on the bed.

"I need a fag," Ron panted and ran his hand up and down Harry's back.

"Thought you just had one," Harry quipped.

"Right," Ron ran his hand over Harry's hair. "You reckon this means we're together."

"Well," Harry levered himself off Ron and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "I think that I effectively broke off my relationship with Terry tonight. Bugger, I've been trying to do it for weeks."

"Really?"

"Yeah—it just wasn't right being with someone whose name rhymes with yours."

Ron laughed and tightened his arms around Harry. He kissed his forehead, lingering slightly on the scar there, and he drew back to smile down at him.

"Happy Christmas, Harry."

"Happy Christmas, Ron."

Ron did a quick cleansing charm and pulled the quilt over them before pulling Harry tighter to him.

_Happy Christmas, indeed._


End file.
